windthread

we change the bandage every 3rd day.  Slather it with this.   Wrap wrap wrap.    Meloxicam every other day,  oral.  and Gabapentin every day for pain.   These crushed and mixed with peanut butter and Molasses.  Served  as a Ritz Cracker sandwich.    He remains in the Curry House with it's narrow back corridor yard.   

it looks great today and was not tender to touch when cleaning.   you can see HAIR is growing back!  We hope an other week or two….Vet will decide ….and it can be open to AIR .   and we can let him back out into his world.  Depending on how he is able to navigate,  maybe all of it or if not,  we'll modify by some new fencing and restrict his bottom cliff trail.   

the two girls stayed a couple hours.   highlight for them was hanging out with him.   they brushed him and picked tufts of  winter undercoat hair.   At one point Brinley made a squinched face and said…what's that SMELL.   Sunny Ray.  He's a buck Goat.   Oh, and the squinch disappeared and in it's place a bright smile.  

from Face Book

little wild Purples in B Garden  share space with peas

this string wad was here when i got here.  I don't know its story.    i look at it a lot as i walk up and down for Goat feeding,  is hanging in a tangle of poison oak vine that remains in the branches of  this  tree next to the horse trailer.  The vines are dead now.  Have been.   Today it's  the image for a story i am telling myself as it goes. 

There's been a lot of remembering going on,  a lot of  spontaneous Tying In memories…like that Creek as a kid,  all that's coming up now about New Mexico for several reasons,  several Stories,  some mine,  some not.    A lot more.    Things just arising and taking on movement,  no order.  Like this string wad.    I devoted the day to Thinking.   

Yesterday when Alyssia, Jeff and Brinley came to pick up Emrie and to change Sunny Ray's bandage  (still every 3rd day)  a change happened.   The girls are to hang out at the table in front of the door here.  Two of them are too distracting for SR.  They usually just sit and make stone arrangements.   For the first time Emrie had come in this house and brought out some of her things from the Altar….the helicopter,  watering can,  Michelle's little yellow pickup,  some stone animals.   They were among the stones when we got back to the table.  Were still talking.    Brinley kept saying excuse me.  Excuse me…..she asked if she could bring some things out too.    She has rarely come inside since I've  been here.   Still talking i said ok.  She couldn't figure out how to get the screen door open.  That took a while.   She was in here  long moments  and finally came out with some interesting choices,  one of which was my Wolf Basket which i nixed so she returned it and brought a tiny glass jar with broken things in it,  the two tea cups…..Both for me (herself) , she said…..the metal dog.    They played,  we kept talking.   Excuse me.  Excuse me……When is it my turn for a sleep over?

O.   

So part of this day was reading about girls with ADHD.   And somehow,  that question is about all the rest.    of what is unfolding now.   About who i've been,   who i am,    about New Mexico,    about  the Intelligence of the Universe,    about Art,  Making,    about Meaning and Purpose.  about Time.   

it's been a while since a sleep over.   She and i alone,   time.    Each time she's different…her changes evident because of the singularity of us.   This time,  again.   Her conversations are paragraphs instead of sentences.  She has complex questions.  

Where did you grow up?   Where  is Michigan?   What is a state?   In between things there is singing….just rising up…she makes up the words…foreign languages.   I don't comment,  don't want her to become self conscious about this…i love it.   so BeautyFull.   and for the first time,  swinging was Swinging.   not an "activity" of being swung.   i have a rope tied to it.  Sit and keep it moving by pulling the rope.   Again,  singing.   And just free association,  her own thoughts and observations of the things around us,  the day itself…the feeling of it.    A really long time.  More than an hour.   closer to two.

When in the archives,  there was this.   Next pic  from the child at the creek.   Spring, 2017.   Some of you might remember.   This is the reason i decided i could move from New Mexico.   Only this.   Otherwise i would have stayed.    She had gone to  visit an old par amour from the Navy.   At this point they were just friends.   But before going,  she got a whole GYN tune-up.  Good to go.  3 days.   I kept Julian.   And then there was this.   So many decisions from the beginning.  Yes…No…Yes…No…undecided and then the news of the Trisomy 13 markers rising up.   But the ultrasound.   We went round and round,  She,  Jenny,  Me.   and then, for whatever reason,    Keep.   It all being such an unknown,  it all being so possibly such a difficult time.  Time for me to go there.  Offer what i could.   no matter what.   

and here i am tonight.  A sleep over.  We talk about kindergarten.   She just tore toilet paper in strips and held them to her chin….a Goat Beard.   Puppy has come in to lie on the foot of the bed.   Tay farted.   Here we are.   May.   an interesting month for me.   a FREE month.  but this time around,  maybe not.    

ok….so picture this.    A 76 yo woman,  sitting at a table in a travel trailer in California.    it's late.   she is wanting to put something  on the screen.   Evidently doesn't know how,   but tries.   it doesn't work so she sits.   Considers this.   Consider her,  considering.  

the drawing…but then i wondered if i'd made a post about it when i drew it?   i did.   in the Archives.   3~24~17   The Mother Tongue.   and it's a good post.   

the drawing…today,  as then,   is so Off in perspective.  The fallen tree would be flat across the creek.  But it is good enough to remember by…even this way.  And perfect that i   "ran across"  the drawing.    There is purpose and meaning in everything.

the threads pulse

there is purpose and meaning in Every Thing.

it remains directly in front of where i am at the Morning Table.     to the right is Old Oak.    

there is a  ~living ~ relationship    with cloth ,   with fiber.   

so if this were a Cloth…if the drawing was on cloth and surrounded by cloth,  the scraps of the cloth would tell the story,  would Bring the story.  

just the drawing,   could be just this.   But if there wanted to be Story,  would need  marks and lines.   and then

with cloth, or,  at least in the way i like to collage it,    the story would be open to being seen in many ways…as many ways as viewers,  would have many meanings.   many stories.

the drawing,  with more drawing,   would be the story I would tell.